A Familiar Specter
by SongBirdie
Summary: One story, many layers, about fathers and sons, partners and lovers, the past and present, told in three voices. Showing that just because someone leaves us, doesn't mean they are ever truly gone. Written for IMSLES in the 2013 NFA Secret Santa Gift Exchange. RIP, Ralph Waite.


**A Familiar Specter**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own or make any claim on NCIS; it is the property of its respective creators.

**Summary: **One story, many layers**, **about fathers and sons, partners and lovers, the past and present, told in three voices. Showing that just because someone leaves us, doesn't mean they are ever truly gone. Written for Sue **(IMSLES**) in the **2013 NFA SeSa Gift Exchange**.

**Spoilers/Timeline:** Set sometime after the S10 episode **The** **Namesake**, but in such a situation that you can chose if Ziva ever left. No S11 spoilers.

**Warnings:** for some spare curse words, angst and small S10 spoilers, things we learned about Gibbs' mother, implied.

Thanks to **Enthusiastic Fish** for her help beta-reading this story, and for all the work she put into running SeSa this year.

This story was written for **IMSLES** in the **2013 NFA** **Secret Santa Gift Exchange**. I hope you like this, Sue. All the best and happy holidays, from your Secret Santa!

Sue's Prompt was:

**Must Haves**: Gibbs, Jackson and any other characters are welcome.

**Don't Wants:** No character death (unless it is one that has already passed in the show).

**Request or Prompt:** father/son fic.

**Pairings:** none necessary, but all are okay

**Spoilers or Season Setting:** any season is fine (I'm current!)

* * *

_Gibbs' House_

_Present_

Jackson sighed, looking down again, trying once more to read his book, hoping it'd be more interesting this time around, but alas, it was still as boring as the first time. The words themselves were fine, the writers of today were just missing something. He looked at the clock, looked back at his book, looked around the empty living room and made up his mind. He'd given Leroy hours, and his son still hadn't made any move to come out of that dratted basement, and he wanted, needed to know what was wrong. He winced as he got up from the reading chair, he wasn't as young as he used to be. He mentally ran through all the dates he knew of that would make Leroy upset, not finding any that fit. It wasn't the right time of year to be Shannon's birthday, it wasn't Kelly's birthday, it wasn't the right month to be Leroy and Shannon's wedding anniversary, it wasn't the anniversary of when their girls died, it wasn't his late wife's, Leroy's mother's birthday, nor was today the anniversary of the day she died, it wasn't the day they found out Anne was sick, so frankly, he was at a loss.

Unfortunately, that was not that rare of an occasion, when it came to his son, it was more the norm. He reached the stairs and glared at them, feeling foolish for doing so, but he'd need his wits about him if he wanted this to go well. Historically, most of the times he tried to have a serious conversation with Leroy ended with his son yelling, at the very least, and in the worst cases, running off to join the Marines and become a sniper, or them not speaking again for almost twenty years.

_Anne, you were so much better with him. You didn't even have to try; you always knew exactly what to do when it came to him_, he thought. Not for the first time, he resented his wife for dying and leaving him to try and raise their son. He sighed, he loved Leroy, he did, more than anything in the world, he loves his son. He did his best with him, but he knows he messed up in the past, and he's trying not to do it again, but it's not easy, because he has never understood where his son's head is at. And just because he loves him, does not mean he'd ever had any idea how to talk to him, and Anne had been so good at getting Leroy to talk. This was getting him nowhere, and he really hated these stairs. He needed to stop his whining and try. Worst case scenario, they went another twenty years without talking, but he doubted he had another twenty years left in him, so let's go for the best case.

Leroy hadn't looked up from the work table he was sitting in front of, a bottle of bourbon open next to him, and a picture in his hand. He seemed fine, conscious, at the very least, and he wasn't cursing him yet.

"Leroy? You alright, son? I've to admit, you've got me worried." He held his breathe, hoping his son would talk to him. He saw his son's shoulders tighten, and for a moment he thought he messed up again, pushed too hard, asked too much, but they relaxed and Leroy sighed.

"Do you miss Mom, Dad? Even though things weren't so good between you at the end? Even knowing what you know now, about how she died? " Leroy still wasn't looking at him, so Jackson couldn't see his face, but he sounded sad. He swallowed, hard. So this was about Anne.

"Leroy, I'm going to miss your mom until the day I die. It didn't matter how things were between us, not after she died, only that I regretted, still do, that she died with things so strained between us. And on what your mom chose to do, well, I wish she hadn't, but it comes down to the fact that it wasn't me in that bed, and she was in so much pain." He stopped to take a breath. "Son, if I've ever said something to make you doubt that I loved her, that we loved you, I never meant to. Your mom loved you. I love you and-" but he stopped talking, because his son was smiling at him.

"I know, Dad. Me, too. Wasn't why I asked, anyway." And his son he pulled up a chair next to him for him, and he sat in it, thinking, _for once, I must have done something right, because he __**knows**_. He started paying attention when his son pushed a picture towards him. In it a beautiful young woman with red hair and green eyes had her arms wrapped around his son, smiling at him, happiness clear on her face, as he spun her around. And Leroy, he had to swallow around the lump that formed in his throat from looking at his son in the picture. Leroy was laughing, gazing at her with such tenderness. The only time he'd ever seen his son look at someone like that was the way he had looked at Shannon, and at Kelly, but that was a different sort of tenderness. His eyes widened as he realized he recognized the woman in the picture. And if Leroy had looked at her with that much love clear to see on his face, a lot more things suddenly made sense.

"Her name was Jenny," his son told him. "She was my partner. Then, my boss. Today's the day she died." He ran his fingers over the picture. "She was dying of cancer, but, that's not what killed her."

Jackson steeled his nerves. His son deserved to know.

"I met her." He had no idea his son's head could turn that quickly.

"What?"

"I didn't know she knew you, though it explains a lot. It was six, seven years ago. She came to the shop."

* * *

_Stillwater, Pennsylvania_

_The not that distant past…_

This was a bad idea, such a bad idea. She knew it was, but she couldn't resist. Jethro would be furious with her if he knew but she didn't care. Jethro was on a beach in Mexico, and he wasn't planning on coming back. He hadn't told her about Shannon and Kelly, and she'd always thought his father was dead, but he must have lied about that, too. She should have checked his family history right away, right after the explosion happened, not after he'd already left for Mexico, but she'd trusted him. Look what that had gotten her. Would he have stayed if she'd called this man, his father, instead of Mike Franks? She shook her head. What if's would get her nowhere, and she was just stalling now. She needed to do this and get back to D.C. Her security team was going to be furious with her.

She fixed her sunglasses and pushed in the door to the Stillwater General Store, causing the bell over it to ring. Is this where he'd grown up? Stocking these shelves, playing in this town's streets? She smiled. He must have been such a cute little boy. She looked around with interest, trying to see anything of him in this shop, and smirking, figured she knew why he wasn't a fan of technology. She spotted an old Winchester rifle behind the counter. Had his father been the person who first taught him to shoot?

"Coming! Be right there." She heard a pleasant voice call, followed by brisk footsteps. A smiling man, with blue eyes a shade lighter than Jethro's set in plumb cheeks and gray hair going white was standing in front of her. This is him, this is Jethro's father, she thought. The facts she'd learned from her background check ran through her mind, this was Jackson Gibbs, a former coal-miner who later became the co-owner and co-opener of the Stillwater General Store, married once, to Anne Gibbs, long dead; and the mother of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs. She took a deep breath; this is not how she'd imagined meeting the parents.

"Hello. Don't think I've ever seen you before, Ms. I'd remember a face as lovely as yours," he said, smiling. She blushed, feeling happy he liked her, and pushed that feeling down. _He's a sweet old man, Jenny, he has no idea who you are, it doesn't mean anything._ _But, now I can say I know where Jethro got his charm from, _she thought wryly. _Well, when he can be bothered to use it._

"No, I don't live here." That was true.

"What brings you to Stillwater? It's rather out of the way of the rest of the world." He leaned on the counter, like he had all the time in the world to hear her answer, and she had to fight the tears that threatened to overtake her. _God_, how she wishes Jethro was the one looking at her like that, the way he used to. She tries to smile like she normally would, but if the look on his face is any indication, Jethro also inherited his ability to sniff out bullshit from his father, because he's not buying it. So, she goes for the truth, well, a version of it, which seems to be as close to truth as she gets these days.

"I just needed to get away, to someplace where no one knew me. Gi," she quickly cuts herself off. "Someone important to me got hurt, and they're alright, but I found out there's a lot I didn't know about them, and I can't talk to them about it because they've gone off to lick their wounds far away from home." Jackson nods as she says this.

"Gone away from home, or from you?" He raises his eyebrow at her wince. She shrugs, feeling the helplessness of the whole situation once again settle on her, smothering her anew. She can't lie to herself with this man so like Jethro but so different from him standing so close to her, and Jethro so very far away. And she can't help but wonder if she and Jethro spent their lives together, and eventually grew old together, would he look like the man before her? And it hurts, because she gave up on that dream when she left him in Paris, when she said there would be no off the job that first day they met again, she's made her bed but she still dreams of somewhere different, stills denies that she'll spend the rest of her life lying in it. She smiles a bitter, humorless smile.

"I'm not why he left. I just wasn't enough for him to stay." And how she wishes she was, and she remembers her mother used to tell her '_if wishes were horses, all the beggars would ride, Jenny.'_ Well, she's willing to beg, but she seems to be stuck in an inflexible noose of her own creation, one she made, that they both have, she won't shoulder all this alone. She can't stop struggling and she can't get out. She looks at the man in front of her, at his lined face, his kind eyes, graying hair, the well-cared for but clearly worn shirt. There are no pictures of Jethro out on display, and whatever she may think of them, she's sure Jethro had his reasons for his silence on the subject of his father all these years. She knows all too well that your reasons, however flimsy they are, are all you have sometimes. She looks around the shop, the shelves that Jethro probably shelved, thinks that maybe Shannon's been here, and sighs.

Whatever's she's looking for, she won't find it here. She see a little magnet that says Stillwater, Pennsylvania and underneath that, Stillwater General Store, white font on a color blue that reminds her of Jethro's eyes. She picks it up and hands it to Jackson, her hand brushing his, and she reaches for money. "I'll take this, just give me a minute." He grasps her hand in his, and looks her in the eye.

"Sure I can't get you to sit and have a cup of coffee or tea, and you tell me more about what's going on with you and this boy? I've been told I'm a good listener." He smiles at her, and for a second she sees Jethro, harassing her to tell him what's wrong, and she's so tempted to take him up on it, but no, she needs to go home, sooth her security team, have a good cry, try to sleep and be ready to act like nothing's wrong tomorrow. She regretfully shakes her head, gently pulling her hand from his.

"No, I need to be heading home. It'd be just my luck to have the world end during the few hours I'm gone." She hands him a few dollars, but he pushes them back.

"If I can't get you to stay and talk, then you take the magnet, on the house." He says, nodding. There's a familiar glint of determination in his eyes, but she can't let him do this.

"No, I can't, I've bothered you enough-"

"Helping out a pretty lady isn't any bother. Now, you go home, track down and smack your man, because he's a fool if he let you get away." She chokes back the laughter that forms at the irony of Jackson saying that, and blushes, because no matter how she did so, she still got the approval of the parent of her- partner, she supposes that fits Jethro as well as anything does. She smiles and turns to go, the magnet and a little less loneliness with her. She stops at the door.

"Mr. Gibbs? You did a great job. Thank you." And with that, to the man she's telling it to, cryptic comment, she leaves, for there's no point in chasing ghosts.

* * *

_Once again Gibbs' House_

_Back to the present_

He stares at the picture in his hand, head swimming with the new information. Jenny went to his home town, went to the store, met his father, while he was in Mexico, and never said a word when he came back. He thinks of what Mike had said, that she'd regretted the way things had went, in her life, with them, of the effort it would have taken her to shake off her security team, to what amounted to trying to find out more about him, information she never used, just wanted to know, because that's what you do when you love someone, you try to understand them. He feels his father's hand on his shoulder, and he smiles sadly, because he wishes the three of them could have all met and had dinner together, as a family. He thinks Jenny would have liked that.

He takes the picture and gently puts it right next to one of his favorites of Shannon and Kelly, smiles at the sight of all his girls together. And then he turns away, for now, because he knows his dad wants to talk, and he's an old man, he'll need his rest soon. Ghosts, on the other hand, they had all the time in the world. They know they don't need to chase him; he'll be back, hoping for a glimpse of something familiar, soon enough.

* * *

Written on October 10th, 2013

Posted on April 7th, 2014 (RIP, Ralph Waite)

By Valerie Portolano


End file.
